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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24905458">Mr Americana and the Heartbreak Prince</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsGayAF/pseuds/ThisIsGayAF'>ThisIsGayAF</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DC - Fandom, Detective Comics - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, SuperBat, alfred being a good father figure, and both bisexual disasters, bruce still wants to be Batman, bruce wayne actually has a sense of humour and likes to tease clark, but he ends up going to Smallville due to reasons, clark still has powers, jon and martha being good parents, oh yh they're also gen z</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:09:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,126</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24905458</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsGayAF/pseuds/ThisIsGayAF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne is forced to attend Smallville High and stays because he realises he likes it. Or at least he likes dorky, awkward local Clark Kent</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Goodbye, Hello, Goodbye, Hello Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This first chapter honestly isn't my best writing just 'cause I'm still trying to figure out my writing style for this particular fic and I'm trying to get used to AO3's formatting, so I'm sorry about that but, alas, please enjoy :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It seemed to flare up, one minute everyone was going about their business, business as usual, the next minute, rumours are flying and whizzing through the halls, gossip about Smallville’s new, hot boarding student from some city out East, Clark doesn’t try to pay much more attention. <em>Keep your head down,</em> Pa’s voice echoes through his mind, <em>don’t draw too much attention to yourself. Not until you can control your powers. Be careful, I love you-</em></p><p>Ah, yes, Smallville High’s new boarding exchange system, government funded. It’s not actually much of an exchange, no one’s leaving, they just have more coming in. The idea is to bring in more kids from other places around the country, it’s a ploy for the local politicians to look more diverse. Times are changing and all that. There’s a lot of white folk in the countryside, bringing in a fresh mix of city kids from all sorts of different cultures and backgrounds is supposed to boost Smallville’s reputation. Clark hates the fact it’s just a ploy for more diversity points, but he can’t say he isn’t excited either. It’ll be nice to see some new faces, and to stick it to some of the old, “traditional” grumps around town. It’s also good to be different, but maybe Clark’s biased.</p><p>The new dorms are nice, though, from what Clark’s seen. He’s not been inside, but there’s not much you can do to hide things from someone with X-Ray vision. He just realised how glad he was that no one lived in them yet, otherwise that sentence would’ve been really creepy.</p><p>It’s move in day for the new students, well at least some of the sponsors. Wait, no, just the one sponsor that chipped in for ‘charity’. The new hot kid is <em>actually</em> a new, hot, <em>rich</em> kid whose family donated money towards the school and managed to get offered a place. For whatever reason, he either accepted it or his parents forced him to spend some time in the country. Clark has no idea why some family from a city miles away decided to donate money to a random school in the middle of nowhere, but if it means they finally fix the toilets, he finds that he doesn’t actually mind all that much. Besides, he’s got more important things to worry about than some rich kid who probably got sent away from home for being too rebellious or too snobby, maybe both, who paid and cheated their way into a school acceptance letter. Like the fact that his eyes are burning and he’s suddenly seeing red.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The moment Bruce Wayne stepped out of the car, he could feel it. The chill of rumours and gossip. The one good thing he was hoping for when moving to a whole new school and state was that hopefully nobody would know he was, at least for a little bit. But he isn’t exactly surprised to know that small towns also seem keep up with the news. He sighs, puts on his best fake smile, the one he’s practised a million times, and takes his suitcases from his butler, Alfred, who looks at him almost sadly. “You’ll be back at the manor in no time, it’s just for a year, Master Bruce. Besides, there’s always Christmas.” He smiles hopefully.</p><p>Bruce cringes inwardly but makes sure his eyes light up. “Yeah, Christmas.” He hates Christmas.</p><p>Alfred hums. “You know you can’t fake your emotions around me, sir, so please refrain from doing so.”</p><p>“It’s not you I’m faking for.” His eyes drift up to the crowded windows of the school, where it seems like the entire student body decided it was ‘Creepily spy on your local new kid’ Day.</p><p>Alfred seems to catch on, changing the subject quickly. “Perhaps if you make some friends, we could invite them over, make this year’s holidays a bit livelier.” Alfred’s hand reaches out to brush some invisible fluff from Bruce’s shoulder. It’s his way of saying ‘I love you’, Bruce knows. It makes Bruce feel genuinely happy, and he actually smiles now, moving forward to hug the man tightly, ignoring the previous statement.</p><p>“I’ll miss you.” Alfred seems to relax, arms draping around Bruce in return, hand falling into his black hair.</p><p>“I’ll miss you, too, Master Bruce.” He looks towards the car, then nods, pulling away as he clears his throat. “Right then, I suppose I’ll be off…” He opens the driver side door, taking one more look at Bruce. “Be good, be careful, and…Please, try to enjoy yourself. If you need me, phone and I’ll be on the first flight back.”</p><p>Bruce smiles again. “I will, I will, can’t promise anything, and you too.” Alfred smiles in an attempt to hold back a laugh.</p><p>“Goodbye, Master Bruce.”</p><p>“Goodbye, Alfred.” With that, the man climbs into the car, glances once more out the window towards Bruce, then drives off, leaving Bruce alone.</p><p><em>Only a year</em>, Bruce repeats to himself, <em>just a year.</em></p><p> </p><p>Aside from the run-down lockers and people actually willing to make eye contact with him, the school wasn’t that different to the private ones he’d attended in Gotham. Yet, Bruce still doesn’t feel right, like he’s out of place, like he doesn’t belong. Though, he supposes he’s felt like that for a while, now, out of place. At least living in dorms will be livelier than the manor.</p><p>He looks for the emptiest staircase he can find, and reluctantly makes his ascent. He grimaces at the peeling, off colour paint on the walls, which themselves are covered in grime and unpleasant graffiti. He stops to read some of the comments, random phone numbers, links that’ll show you different types of porn, someone calling someone else a whore, bitch, whatever, and the most popular, the occasional drawing of a penis. In this case, there were multiple penises. Private schools were no better, but at least they kept them to the bathroom stalls. Did the teachers not know or not care?</p><p>His thoughts are cut short when he hears what sounds like a broken whimper from another flight up. He quietly stalks up the stairs and gently places his cases down when he sees another boy curled up by the wall, hands over his eyes, hissing and whimpering. His cheeks are puffy and tear stained. <em>He looks like he’s in pain,</em> Bruce notes, moving forward quickly. He crouches down, placing his hands on the other’s shoulders. The guy jumps, almost pathetically trying to kick Bruce away. Bruce ignores it and holds him still.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” He doesn’t respond, only shaking his head and gritting his teeth. Bruce bites his lip, awkwardly trying to massage his shoulders. He’s never had to comfort anyone before, but Alfred’s done it to him a couple times so maybe-</p><p><em> Holy shit it’s working,</em> he thinks, anyway, as the other immediately seems to relax, even gasping, breath coming out in staggers. The boy shifts, somewhat awkwardly. Bruce takes note of how he shoves his hands in his pockets quickly, tearfully looking up at Bruce. “Thanks.” He smiles awkwardly.</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>He seems to panic, spluttering. “Panic attack,” He settles on. Bruce mentally shrugs, choosing to believe him. If he doesn’t want to tell a complete stranger the actual reason for what happened, Bruce wouldn’t exactly blame him. “I’m Clark.” It’s an obvious change of subject, but Bruce would be a hypocrite if he said he’s never led a conversation in his favour himself.</p><p>“I’m Bruce. Bruce Wayne.”</p><p>"Oh, you’re the new hot guy!” There’s a long pause. Bruce is left blinking, trying to make sure he doesn’t blush, whilst Clark looks as though he wants to bury himself in a cave that’s six feet under. “That’s what people are saying anyway- I don’t think you’re hot- Not that you’re ugly- You are really attractive- <em>Oh, wait,</em> you actually are <em>really</em> attractive now that I’m looking at you- Wait, no, I didn’t mean- I just-“ He shuts himself up, face completely red. Bruce blinks again, before a grin breaks out on his face. He suppresses a giggle, his own face growing warm.</p><p>“It’s fine, I’m flattered.” He manages to stop smiling so much after clearing his throat and stands up, helping Clark up, too. “I should get going, I need to unpack.”</p><p>“Want me to help?”</p><p>“You don’t have to-”</p><p>"You helped me, least I can do is return the favour. I promise I won’t call you hot again.” Clark strokes the back of his neck nervously, already eyeing the suitcases behind Bruce. Bruce considers him for a moment, before remembering Alfred and what he’d want Bruce to do. He stops himself from sighing and nods.</p><p>“Okay then.”</p><p>Clark grins. “Great!” He goes to grab both cases.</p><p>“Why don’t we take one each-”</p><p>Clark looks at him as he seemingly lifts them with ease. “I got ‘em, don’t worry.” Bruce blinks before shrugging, going to hold the door open.</p><p>“If you insist.”</p><p> </p><p>The dorm isn’t bad, actually. It’s more modern than homely, the kitchen is one depressed caffeine addicted adult away from looking like a state-of-the-art staff room, with lime green counters, a cheap, rough carpet, etc. The rooms aren’t massive, either, but they’re not terrible. Each one has a bed and nightstand, desk, bookcase, shelving area, and wardrobe, all of which are white. There are six rooms in this particular dorm, that number varies depending on how much you’re willing to pay. Bruce could’ve gotten a single bedroom dorm to himself, but Alfred wanted him to integrate with some other kids. So, Bruce decides on taking the first room on the left, hoping his future roommates won’t mind. Clark dumps Bruce’s suitcases on the bed and starts to unzip them.</p><p>“Wait-!” Bruce watches as Clark picks up a large, framed picture from the first suitcase. Clark grins, turning to Bruce.</p><p>"These your folks? That’s cute, I got a picture of mine in my room, too. Couple on my phone as well. You don’t gotta be embarrassed.”</p><p>Bruce’s lips thin into a line. “Not embarrassed.” He takes the photo from Clark and stands it on his desk, making a note to hang it later. He stares at it for a moment.</p><p>“Ah, you miss ‘em,” Clark notes, moving closer. “Hey, you’re pretty young in that. Haven’t you got any that are more recent?” Bruce shakes his head.</p><p>“Oh. Do they not like taking pictures with you or somethin’?”</p><p>“That’s not funny.”</p><p>“I’m just saying-”</p><p>"I want you to leave.”</p><p>“What?” Clark stares at Bruce, who’s seething, his jaw clenched and blue eyes teary.</p><p>“Go.” Bruce spits out.</p><p>“I’ve just been helping you unpack and you’re kicking me out?”</p><p>“Yes! Get out!”</p><p>Clark’s taken aback slightly before frowning. “Fine.” He says, leaving the bedroom. Bruce slams the door behind him, making Clark flinch. He was right, Bruce Wayne was just another rich snob. He probably just used Clark to carry his things, Clark thinks, even though he swears he hears Bruce crying. He pauses for a moment, wanting to go back in. He was raised to be polite and help others. He should… But he decides it’s none of his business. If Bruce wants to kick him out for no good reason, Clark wasn’t going to argue.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The next time Clark sees Bruce, it’s from a window on the second floor of the main school block. He’s looking down across one of the school yards, the one that’s like a small garden between the school and the dorms. It’s been a week, meaning the rest of the exchange students have moved in, and already Bruce Wayne has found himself comfortably surrounded by girls. They’re in some kind of irregular circle, all fawning over Bruce, trying to make him smile, laugh, like them. One must crack a good joke, because he does actually laugh. He laughs heartily, even, but Clark can see a hint of nervousness in those eyes, something dark, something holding him back from actually enjoying the moment. It’s for a split second, just a quick thought that flashes through his mind, but still long enough to make an impression. Bruce Wayne is nothing like he says he is and doesn’t act at all how he actually wants to. He’s putting on an act, a façade for the world to see, and the world believes it.</p><p>But why? It’s a question that has dawned on Clark his entire life, a question he’s asked a lot, a question that’s kept him up until the quiet hours of the morning, pondering. <em>Why do I have powers? Why was I born like this? Why was I left here?</em> But he had never asked it about anyone else. Until now. Why was Bruce Wayne putting on a façade and what was he hiding?</p><p>It eats at him all day, even when he’s at dinner with Ma and Pa, who definitely take notice, Clark realises. “Okay, what’s eatin’ at ya?” Jonathan Kent asks, voice somehow both rough yet gentle at the same time.</p><p>Clark sighs, kicking his legs as he continues to play with his food. He bites his lip. “Okay, so there’s this guy, Bruce, at my school, right? He’s one of the exchange kids, but he moved in last week. I was helpin’ him when he suddenly snapped at me and kicked me out of his dorm, and I can’t get it outta my head. It came outta nowhere!”</p><p>“There’s gotta be a reason, son, what were you talkin’ about?”</p><p>Clark shrugs. “I don’t know, he had a picture of his folks but it seemed old and I asked if he had a more recent one but that’s it, I swear.”</p><p>Martha and Jonathan share a confused look for a moment. “What was this boy’s name again?”</p><p>"Bruce Wayne.”</p><p>Martha gasps, dropping her fork. “Clark, honey, what exactly did you say about his parents?” She asks him worriedly.</p><p>“Erm…I don’t know? That they must not like taking pictures with him?” A mixed look of horror and disbelief seems to dawn on both his parent’s faces. “What? What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Clark, Bruce’s parents are <em>dead.</em>”</p><p>"What?”</p><p>"Clark Joseph Kent, you better go find that boy tomorrow and apologise!” Martha moves to get up, hastily walking towards the kitchen.</p><p>“How was I supposed to know?”</p><p>“God, what’s the use of wanting to be a reporter if you don’t even read the papers? Everyone knows what happened to the Waynes, and Bruce knows that everyone knows what happened to his folks. No wonder he was upset, he must’ve thought you were rubbin’ it in!” Pa says, rubbing a hand over his face. Clark cringes, immediately feeling awful. Bruce wasn’t hiding anything except how he was really feeling because he was in <em>pain,</em> he wasn’t enjoying being surrounded by people when he was <em>hurting,</em> that’s why he was trying to act like he was fine and happy. Clark had probably made the thoughts of his family re-emerge, and being away from home, too, that couldn’t have helped.</p><p>Martha comes back over from the stove. “Now, you give him a piece of this pie I made to soften him up a little. Poor boy probably hasn’t had a properly home cooked meal in a week and he’s most likely really upset, too, which won’t help.” She places a carefully wrapped up piece of pie into a plastic container and places it in front of Clark as she kisses his forehead. “I know you didn’t mean to upset him, and I know you’ll make it right, but giving him some pie won’t hurt, either.” Clark nods.</p><p>“Thanks, Ma.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The following day, Clark stands outside of Bruce’s dorm, going back and forth with himself. He paces for a while trying to work up the courage to go inside before the door opens. A blond teenager steps out. “Are you gonna keep pacing out here or do you wanna come in? It’s getting kind of annoying.” Clark blinks, his face going red with embarrassment. He nods, and steps inside quickly. He thanks the other as he rushes down the hall towards Bruce’s room, knocking quietly.</p><p>“Come in!” Bruce shouts through the door. Clark nods to himself, and hesitantly goes inside, shutting the door behind him. Bruce is at his desk working on some homework. The moment he sees Clark, he scowls. Clark inwardly cringes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know about your parents,” Bruce seems to relax, scowl disappearing, yet his eyebrows furrow. Clark moves closer, placing his dessert container on the desk. “I brought you some pie.” He watches as Bruce’s eyes flick between the container and him for a few moments before he sighs, putting his pen down.</p><p>“I thought everyone knew.” Bruce says as he takes the container and opens it.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m not great with news. Or gossip. I don’t really talk to a lot of people.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“I don’t really have any friends…”</p><p>Bruce looks at him for a moment, before chuckling softly. “Neither do I.”</p><p>“But I’ve seen you talking to loads of people.”</p><p>“That’s just because they think I’m the ‘new hot guy’,” He smirks smugly as he watches Clark blush. “Honestly, I don’t really like making friends with people who think they already know everything about me.” Clark nods.</p><p>“Makes sense.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Bruce says, before tasting some of the pie. His eyes seem to light up and he looks at Clark. “Did you make this?”</p><p>“No, my Ma did.”</p><p>“It’s really good.”</p><p>Clark laughs. “Yeah, I know. She’s great at baking. You could come over some time! She loves having guests round!” Bruce looks at him, as if considering it. “You don’t have to, obviously, no pressure!” Clark adds, fumbling nervously.</p><p>Bruce shrugs. “If there’s more pie, then sure…Besides, it’ll make Alfred happy if he thinks I’m making friends.”</p><p>“Who’s Alfred?”</p><p>“My guardian.”</p><p>“Cool... Are we friends?”</p><p>Bruce cracks a small smile. “Like I said, I don’t like to be friends with people who think they already know me, but you didn’t even know what’s probably the first thing everyone’s knows. It’s… Refreshing? So, I don’t know, we could try? Just don’t mention my parents again.”</p><p>Clark nods, beaming. “Noted!” He looks at his watch. “I think we have class in five minutes, and mine’s all the way on the other side of school so I’ve gotta go, but I’ll see you at lunch? Maybe?” Bruce nods. “Great!” Clark opens the door.</p><p>“Oh, and Clark?” Clark turns to look at Bruce, who’s smirking with a playful gleam in his eye. “I think you’re attractive, too.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Am I Your Type</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello. It's been awhile. Sorry. I'll update more now that I have a better idea about the plot for this fic. Enjoy! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The cafeteria is buzzing, everyone eager to eat or see their friends after long, boring hours of algebra and Shakespeare. It’s nice, in a ‘Just keep your head down to avoid getting punched’ kinda way, at least to Clark. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed in crowded rooms when growing up trying to hide certain parts of yourself, especially when a lot of the people in this room have tried to pick on him one way or another for being weird, quiet, nerdy or whatever. It’s a trope that feels like it belongs in a shitty 80s movie, especially when the majority of the people that do it are popular jocks who think high school is the peak of existence. He sits at an empty table, bouncing his leg anxiously as he searches the room. He sees Bruce with a group of said jocks, looking as though he’s enjoying their company. Clark shrinks in on himself, now very conscious of the fact that he doesn’t seem to fit in what he presumes would be Bruce’s usual social circle. It wouldn’t surprise him if he used to hang around the same kind of crowds back in Gotham, even if he wasn’t close with anyone. All Rolex watches and jeans that cost way more than any plain jeans should, fast cars, trust funds, big houses and new money- Not that the Waynes were new money, Wayne being an old and well-known name <em>and</em> brand- Some of the kids here just have parents who were lawyers and doctors. Nothing too big, since Smallville doesn’t bring too many of those city-like jobs, as Pa calls them, but enough money to live more than comfortably. Clark can’t exactly blame him; he can tell Bruce picks his social groups carefully, his best guess is it’s a class thing. He knows if Bruce sat with him, it’d basically be “social suicide”, or at least that’s what he’s been told by probably everyone. Even so, he can’t say it doesn’t hurt slightly.</p><p>He gets up to leave just as a bag is placed on the table in front of him. He looks up to see Bruce, who’s smiling awkwardly. “Sorry, got caught up. You’re not leaving, are you?”</p><p>Clark feels his heart soar and he grins, shaking his head. “Nah, I just thought you might wanna hang out with them.” Clark nods to the group Bruce was just with as he sits back down. The other teen grimaces slightly, also sitting.</p><p>“Not really my type.”</p><p>“And I am your type?”</p><p>Bruce chuckles, his eyes meeting Clark’s. Clark can see he wants to say something but decides against it, choosing to nod instead. “You seem nice enough, genuine. You don’t sweat testosterone like it’s a competition. So, yes.”</p><p>“You seemed to like them.”</p><p>“I seem to like a lot of people.” Bruce pauses, shifts slightly. “I don’t- I don’t want to cause problems. If people think I like them, and if I’m polite, they won’t start anything.”</p><p>“You think they would?”</p><p>“You ask a lot of questions.”</p><p>Clark smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, it’s the future reporter in me.” He hums, digging into his food. “So, you afraid to get in trouble or do you care about what people think of you?”</p><p>“Neither. I can handle myself pretty well in a fight, need be, and I couldn’t care less about what people think of <em>me</em>. It’s what-” Bruce stops himself, teeth grit slightly. “Doesn’t matter.” He finishes, shaking his head. Clark decides not to ask about it.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“What’s the point in this again?”</p><p>“It’s fun,” Clark beams, smiling up at the sun as they stroll leisurely down the sidewalk. They’re on Smallville’s main road in the centre of town, where all the main stores are. There’s a few clothing stores, boutiques, lots of farm related stores, the odd laundry mat, and a few cafes, bars, and diners, and a single cinema. Nothing too fancy. The only fancy place is Berney’s, which is an expensive clothing store. They do high-end, tailored suits and such. Clark has no need for that kinda stuff, so he’s never stepped foot in it, and doesn’t think he ever will. “And I want to show you around, can’t stay on school grounds all the time. That’d be pretty dull.”</p><p>Bruce sighs heavily beside him, looking up and down the road. “Is there a gym?”</p><p>“We have a swimmin’ place.”</p><p>“I don’t think that’s the same thing.”</p><p>Clark laughs as they enter one of the many diners along the main road. “You could always come help out at the farm. Tossing hay bales is one hell of a workout.”</p><p>Bruce chortles softly. “Maybe I’ll just buy some land and build a gym.”</p><p>The taller teen gives him a freaked out look. “You can do that?”</p><p>Bruce just shrugs as he slides into one of the booths. “Probably.” He watches as Clark sits opposite him. “So, what do you do for fun around here?”</p><p>“Oh wow, you’re actually interested in doing something fun? Here I thought you’d die of loneliness in your room via endless studying.”</p><p>“Pffft- You don’t know me at all, Kent.” He smirks.</p><p>“Enlighten me, then, what do <em>you </em>do for fun?”</p><p>“I asked you first.”</p><p>“Okay, I mainly like to write.”</p><p>“Right- You said you wanted to be a reporter. Do you just write articles or…?”</p><p>“Fiction, too. Stories. Small ones- I er- Kind of have a book but it’s nothing I’m going to publish, just kind of something to do that helps me improve.” He shifts, cheeks going pink. He reaches for the menu- Already knows his order, this being his favourite diner in town- But it’s something to distract himself with.</p><p>“What’s it about?”</p><p>Clark bites his lip. “Not- Not fitting in…Feeling like you don’t belong.” Bruce goes quiet, staring at him. “It’s- It’s angsty, I know- Like I said, I was never gonna publish it or anyth-”</p><p>“No. No, I like it. It sounds good. Sometimes…Art can be a sufficient escape. I personally prefer punching bags but each to their own,” He smiles. “Who am I to tell you what to write in your book anyway?”</p><p>“Right…”</p><p>“Maybe I can read it one day?”</p><p>A crooked smile etches its way onto Clark’s face. “Maybe.”</p><p>A waitress makes her way over to them, smiling widely. “You boys ready to order?” She says, thick Southern accent melting into her silvery tone. She has blonde, shoulder length curls that bounce when she takes out a pen from behind her ear, ready to jot down their orders on a small note pad.</p><p>Clark smiles back politely. “Can I get a cheeseburger with a side of fries and a cola? Also, a vanilla milkshake, too, please.” The waitress nods then looks at Bruce expectantly.</p><p>“Er- I’ll have what he’s having but without the milkshake, please and thank you.” The woman nods again before sauntering off. Clark raises a brow at Bruce. “I panic when I order at new places and usually go for what other people have.” He admits, the words seemingly fumbling out before he can stop them.</p><p>Clark laughs softly, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands. He looks at Bruce tenderly. “Don’t worry, they make pretty good burgers here.”</p><p>Bruce clears his throat. “I do trust the beef Kansas appears to produce.” Steel eyes flick from Clark’s sky blues to the rest of him then up again. Clark blinks, face turning rubicund- <em>Was that- Was he-</em></p><p>He doesn’t get any more time to think about Bruce’s comment as two plates- One a plate of cheesy garlic bread, the other chicken strips- are placed in front of them by the waitress from before. “You’re in luck! We just set up an offer that first time customers get these two starters on the house, what with all the fresh new faces comin’ in from those cities an’ all.”</p><p>“O-Oh,” Clark responds dumbly, still caught up in the moment before. “Thank you, ma’am.”</p><p>“No problem, sweetheart. You just call on me if you need anythin’.” She places their drinks down next then leaves again.</p><p>Clark slides his shake to the side for the time being, choosing to sip his coke. He still feels the tips of his ears burning and can see the way Bruce’s lips twitch upwards into a smirk from over his glass. “Anyway, yeah, what do you do for fun?” He croaks out, grabbing one of the chicken strips.</p><p>Bruce takes a sip of his own cola before answering. “Exercise, read. I like detective novels, mostly. What else do you do other than write, <em>sweetheart?”</em></p><p>If Clark didn’t already know he was attracted to guys, that would’ve been <em>one hell of an awakening right there and then,</em> even if he knows Bruce is just teasing him for the waitress’ pet name. He pushes down whatever pleased, pathetic and almost whine-like sound that threatens to make its way up his throat and plasters on his best smile, albeit strained. “Help out around the farm, I like hangin’ with the animals. They’re good company when you’ve got no one else.” He freezes. “That sounds really lame now that I’m saying it out loud, huh?”</p><p>“I don’t think it’s lame…There’s bats in my attic. I go up and just…Sit with them when I feel alone. I haven’t told Alfred, though, because he’d probably call pest control.”</p><p>Clark leans back. “I was wrong about you…”</p><p>“How do you mean?”</p><p>Clark bites his lip guiltily. “Well, when I first heard about you, I thought you got sent here for being snobby or something. You’re actually really…Nice. Nice, Bruce, you’re nice. To put it simply, anyway.” He smiles softly, more at the thought than actually at Bruce. He shakes his head after a moment. “I shouldn’t have assumed anything before I met you. I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”</p><p>“No- I- Thank you. People usually aren’t that honest.”</p><p>Clark doesn’t comment on how lonely that sounds, already realising by now that Bruce was quite clearly lonely. Pointing it out probably wouldn’t be very polite. “People lie to you a lot?”</p><p>“People who wanna be friends with me usually end up being sycophants. I’ve had people who I thought cared about me drop me when I stopped paying for group outings, realising that was probably why they even let me come. Turns out I was right.” Bruce sighs, playing with the crust on a piece of garlic bread. “I only tried to make friends in the first place so Alfred would stop worrying about me. It only ended up making things worse, though, because I realised someone like me didn’t get to have friends unless they wanted something from me.” He falters. “I’m not saying that I’m burdened for having wealth- I understand I have immense privilege because of my class and financial standing- I just meant that- Fuck, I wasn’t trying to-” He cuts off his rambling when Clark starts laughing.</p><p>“I know you weren’t- Don’t worry about it. You’re allowed to have problems even if you’re privileged financially, Bruce. Having money won’t immediately make you happy, especially if people do use you for your wealth.”</p><p>The shorter teen untenses slightly. “That- Ah- Means a lot. Thank you.”</p><p>“Lucky for you, validation from me is free.” Clark winks, grinning. “And hugs, if you want any. Because I love hugging people. Also kinda tempted to pay for your meal now.”</p><p>“Clark, we just had an entire conversation about how I’m a billionaire. You don’t need to pay for me.”</p><p>The Kansan pouts. “I know but no one ever has, so I wanna. You deserve to be spoilt a little after such a sucky start with previous friendships.” Clark puts his best puppy dog eyes on. “I have money, too. I don’t go out a lot, so my allowance just builds up.”</p><p>Bruce huffs, groaning. He can’t help the way his heart swells at the thought of someone spoiling him for a change, however. Specifically, if that person is one <em>Clark Kent,</em> for a reason Bruce can’t entirely place, if he’s honest. “Fine. But I’m paying next time we go out, then. So, we’ll be even.”</p><p>“Next time?” Clark grins. Bruce swears then and there that if Clark was actually a puppy, his tail would be wagging. Now that he thinks about it, Clark was practically the human embodiment of a golden retriever.</p><p>“Next time.” The older teen nods to add to the confirmation.</p><p>They continue to chat idly, eating away at their starters until their mains arrive. Clark slides his milkshake closer to him again, grabbing some fries. He dips them into his shake before eating them. Bruce grimaces. “You dip your fries into your drink?”</p><p>“Only milkshakes- You don’t?”</p><p>“No one does.”</p><p>“Everyone does, you never seen a single movie? It’s a <em>classic.</em> At least try it.” He pushes the glass towards Bruce who gives him an apprehensive look. He reluctantly dips his own fries into the shake and tries the concoction. “So?”</p><p>“It’s okay, I suppose.”</p><p>“Told ya, Brucie.”</p><p>“Brucie?”</p><p>“Can- Can I call you Brucie?”</p><p>Bruce tuts, yet his lips twitch upwards. “Just don’t do it in front of anyone.” He picks up a knife and fork, going to cut his burger.</p><p>“Please tell me you’re not being serious.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Use your hands.”</p><p>“I don’t want them getting greasy.”</p><p>“That’s part of the <em>experience.”</em></p><p>“You’re going to be the death of me, Kent, you know that?” He places down the cutlery and picks the burger up with his hands, pouting slightly.</p><p>“No, I’m gonna show you how to <em>live.”</em></p><p>“Eating a burger with my hands is living?”</p><p>“It’s a start.”</p><p>“And you’re the expert?”</p><p>“Duh,” He grins. “Eat up, city boy."</p><p>“You’re ridiculous.” Bruce takes a bite of his food.</p><p>“Only when it suits me.”</p><p>“At least you're right about one thing.”</p><p>“Oh yeah? What’s that?”</p><p>“The burgers here <em>are</em> good.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It’s sunset by the time Clark and Bruce come strolling up the path towards Clark's house, still talking as the sun sets in the distance behind them. The fields glow orange under the Autumn sky, ready for the harvest season. Bruce's eyes trail along the rows of corn and wheat until they onto a small pumpkin patch just in front of the porch. “Those are some big pumpkins.”</p><p>“Huh? Oh, yeah. There’s contest every year at the Halloween fair. Ma and pa started growing them when I was a kid because they thought it would be something to bond over if we carved pumpkins we grew ourselves. Became a tradition, but now we grow extra and enter the biggest one into the contest, too. We’ve won a few times.” He smiles fondly. “Seems like ma's already taken some of the runts, she usually uses the small ones for pie.”</p><p>Bruce hums, smiling as well. “Sounds nice.”</p><p>“It is.” Clark’s lips thin into a line. “Do...Do you have any traditions?”</p><p>Bruce halts in his tracks. “...No.”</p><p>“Well…How about we make one? Every Friday night it could be you, me, and the diner?”</p><p>“That…Sounds nice, too.” The Gothamite offers a faint, almost timid smile. Clark beams at him. “It’s Tuesday. Would we be on for this Friday or…?”</p><p>“I mean, I don’t mind doing it twice in one week. You’re decent enough company.” Clark chuckles, eyes crinkling.</p><p>Bruce half scoffs, half laughs. “Gee, thanks.”</p><p>“You’re welcome.” He steps closer to Bruce, towering over him smugly. Bruce notes that he smells like fresh air, clean clothes, baked goods, old wood, and hay- All of which are barely masked by a sweet cologne. It’s comforting. Clark is comforting. Even if he’s being a smug bastard.</p><p>“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”</p><p>“I could get pa to drop you off, don’t want you walkin’ home alone when it’s near dark.”</p><p>Bruce shakes his head, moving away. “I don’t want to burden him, plus it’s still sunny out- And, like I said, I can handle myself.”</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>“I’ll be fine, Clark. I’ll see you tomorrow.”</p><p>“Just be careful.”</p><p>Bruce hums, beginning to walk back down the pathway and towards the road. “I will, don’t worry.” He throws a lazy wave over his shoulder. Clark fumbles with his glasses for a moment as he watches Bruce leave. Sighing, he shakes off his uneasy feeling and walks inside.</p><p>Ma’s baking something whilst pa sits at the table, going over some expenses. Martha looks at her son over her shoulder. “New friend?”</p><p>“You were watching me?” Clark’s face flushes.</p><p>“I couldn’t help it; I’ve never seen you with a friend before.” She moves away from kneading some dough, pinching his cheek after she wipes her hands on her apron. “What’s his name?”</p><p>Clark swerves away, pouting. “That was Bruce.”</p><p>“Oh? You’re friends now?”</p><p>“I think so? He seems to want to be, and we made plans to see each other more.”</p><p>“Clark, that’s wonderful! Why didn’t you invite him inside?”</p><p>“We haven’t known each other long and I don’t know- It seems too soon, I guess? He’s kinda careful about stuff, I don’t know if he would’ve wanted to.”</p><p>“Ah- Okay- Well, when you think he is comfortable, you should invite him ‘round some time. I’d love to meet him.”</p><p>Pa hums in agreement from the table, almost mindless as he adds his own thoughts to the conversation. “It’d only be right to get to know him ourselves, see to it that he’s not a bad influence.”</p><p>“He’s fine, pa. He’s good, even.”</p><p>“Just makin’ sure, son.”</p><p>Clark pouts again and exits into the hallway, trudging up the stairs. It’s not until he's in bed that he thinks of Bruce once more, thinks of his steely gaze and the way his lips quirk up ever so slightly when he tries not to smile, only to fail and show off one of the most radiant and beautiful smiles Clark has seen on anyone, if not the most- All effortless charm and natural elegance. It sends him to sleep almost instantly. Turns out, thinking about Bruce Wayne is easier than counting any sheep; more enjoyable, too. Clark finds he rather likes thinking of Bruce Wayne.</p>
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